I was born in Tillamook, Ore. Our dairy farm was situated on 380 acres along East Beaver Creek, which eventually ran into the Nestucca River near Beaver, Ore.
This happened during the Tillamook forest fire of 1939. We were quite some distance from the fire, but our fields were all covered with ash and debris. One morning, the smoke was so thick we needed to keep our lights on until 10 a.m., and that was in August.
I had just come to the front of the barn to empty my milk pail one morning, when I happened to glance up the road and saw a black figure approaching over the bridge. As it drew closer, I could see that it was an animal running from the fire. I walked closer to the road until I was only about five feet from it.
It was a dark brown bear nearly as large as a 2-year-old heifer. Its face resembled a pig, and it looked so huge! Its tongue was hanging out of its mouth, with flecks of foam dripping as it ran. It kept looking back over its shoulder as it hurried past me, no longer able to go faster than a hurried walk. I could hear its padded feet on the dry road bed.